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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29305527">don't say a word (save me)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/extasiswings/pseuds/extasiswings'>extasiswings</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>9-1-1 (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>4x04, Angst, Episode Tag, Hurt/Comfort, If you hate the Buckley Parents as much as I do clap your hands, M/M, Softness, The Boxing Scene</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 08:00:30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,205</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29305527</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/extasiswings/pseuds/extasiswings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Buck hits the bag a few more times, but it’s harder without Eddie there to keep a foot on the edge of the frame to hold it down.  The bag swings wider, the punches don’t land as strongly.  And Buck finally just catches the bag and holds it in place until it stops rocking, feeling...feeling…</p>
<p>Tired.  </p>
<p>[Or: the boxing scene, continued.]</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Evan "Buck" Buckley &amp; Eddie Diaz, pre-Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>66</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>663</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>don't say a word (save me)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>So anyway, that episode messed me UP.  Which is why I am here writing fic to deal with my feelings instead of going to bed.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Buck hits the bag a few more times, but it’s harder without Eddie there to keep a foot on the edge of the frame to hold it down.  The bag swings wider, the punches don’t land as strongly.  And Buck finally just catches the bag and holds it in place until it stops rocking, feeling...feeling…</p>
<p>Tired.  </p>
<p>He doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry.  That for all his bravado not five minutes earlier that he could punch his way to clarity or healing or <em>justice</em>—for the kid he was, for the man he is—he can’t even keep it up.  Can’t keep going.  He doesn’t want to fight—not really.  He’s not even sure he wants to try.  He just wants to fucking sleep, to crawl into bed with a flashlight like he’s ten years old again and pull the covers up over his head and make his own little cave.  Pretend that nothing can touch him there.  Hide until it feels safe to come out again.</p>
<p>He’s so.  Fucking.  Tired.  </p>
<p>Tired of not being good enough.  Tired of trying.  Tired of backsliding every time he thinks he’s finally in a good place.  <em>Months</em> of therapy and he just—</p>
<p>“Hey.”  </p>
<p>Buck looks up as he steps away from the bag.</p>
<p>“Thought you left,” he says quietly.</p>
<p>Eddie shrugs and holds up his hand to show off the two wrapped protein bars he’s procured.  </p>
<p>“Haven’t seen you eat all day.  Thought you should,” he replies.  He nods at the gloves on Buck’s hands.  “You can take a break.  The bag will still be there later...if you really want it to be.”</p>
<p>There’s the faintest edge of concern and disapproval in his tone, an echo of <em>I’ve been down that road, I don’t recommend it</em>.  But it doesn’t feel like judgment.  It doesn’t sting.</p>
<p>Buck sighs and strips off the gloves, scrubs his hands over his face as he collapses onto the bench.  His eyes burn and he bites his cheek, swallows back the tidal wave of emotion threatening to drown him.  </p>
<p>(There’s another piece to it as well—the nasty whisper that he needs to run away, that he’s too open, looks too honest, that he shouldn’t be showing it, sharing it.  But thankfully, he doesn’t seem to have lost everything from months of therapy in one fell swoop, because when Eddie sits down next to him, close enough that their shoulders press together, he doesn’t shy away.)</p>
<p>“They asked what I expected them to do,” he confesses, leaning into that pressure, the warmth and solid muscle of Eddie’s arm.  “I said things I’ve been keeping inside for years about how I’ve never been good enough for them and they asked what I expected.  Like it was my fault.  Like it’s still—like it’s always been my—even when I was a <em>kid</em>, Eddie, I was never enough, and I don’t understand why they don’t—”  </p>
<p>Buck takes a shaky breath and lets it out.  “I didn’t think it was too much to expect your parents to give a damn.  I definitely didn’t think it was too much to expect them not to blame you for it when they don’t.”</p>
<p>“It’s not too much,” Eddie says firmly.  He presses the protein bars into Buck’s hand and although he doesn’t feel at all like eating, Buck tears one open anyway.   </p>
<p>“It’s not too much to expect your parents to love you,” he continues.  “Or to expect them not to be hypocrites.  It’s not too much to expect them to apologize when they’ve hurt you.”</p>
<p>“They’re never going to do that,” Buck interjects, bitterness clawing up his throat like bile.  “They won’t use the <em>name</em> I want them to, and that’s not even difficult.  God forbid they ever actually admit they were wrong about something.”</p>
<p>Eddie’s quiet for a moment.  Then, he says—</p>
<p>“You know, I’m not a therapist—although, for the record, you should probably call yours about this—but I’m pretty sure if they don’t apologize, you don’t have to forgive them.  Pretty sure you don’t have to forgive them even if they do.”</p>
<p>“They’re my family.”  It feels trite and hollow, an argument that Buck doesn’t even feel connected to, but is somehow compelled to make anyway.  An echo of the words he’s had thrown back in his face a million times over the years. </p>
<p>Eddie just shakes his head.  “They’re people you’re related to.  This place, here?  Bobby and Athena, Hen and Karen, Chim and Maddie...me—me and Christopher.  We’re your family.  The family you made.  The family you chose.”</p>
<p>Buck’s eyes burn again and he glances away as he clears his throat roughly.</p>
<p>“Is it—is it stupid that I still want them to care anyway?”</p>
<p>Eddie shifts, moving away in favor of curving his hand around the back of Buck’s neck, his thumb pressing gently into tense muscle and working in small circles to dig the tension out.</p>
<p>“I don’t think it’s ever stupid to want someone to love you.”  His voice is soft—it matches the look in his eyes, a look that Buck hardly feels worthy of.  “But if they never do, that doesn’t mean you aren’t still loved.  That you aren’t <em>worth loving</em>.  All it means is that they fucked up and missed out on the best opportunity of their lives.  And that’s their loss.  Not yours.”</p>
<p>Buck’s stomach squirms but it isn’t uncomfortable exactly.  More like he’s being pulled in two different directions—the one that’s still a mess, spiraling down into the dark, and the one that wants to press back up into Eddie’s touch, to drown in his eyes instead of that ocean of grief.  The one that wants to upend everything and risk it all, that wonders if he knocks whether Eddie will let him in just like this.</p>
<p>The one that wants <em>Eddie</em> to love him back.</p>
<p>The one that wants.</p>
<p>“Worth loving, huh?”  </p>
<p>Eddie’s lips quirk up.  “Yeah, I guess.”  His tone is light and teasing, but his thumb strokes gently down Buck’s neck in a way that makes him hold back a shiver.</p>
<p>Buck wets his lips and glances back at the bag.</p>
<p>“It really doesn’t help.  Does it?”</p>
<p>Eddie follows his gaze and shakes his head.  </p>
<p>“For a little while,” he admits.  “For a few minutes, an hour maybe—it can help you get some tension out.  But at the end of the day, whether you’re fighting a bag or even another person, you’re not going to solve anything that way.  Especially if you’re not even fighting the person all of those feelings are directed at.  But, I know something that works a little better.”</p>
<p>His hand withdraws and Buck bites back a sound of protest.  Eddie stands, holds out a hand to pull Buck up as well.</p>
<p>“Come on,” he says.  “Shift’s over anyways--you’re coming home with me, and no, you don’t get to argue.  Chris and I started a new puzzle last night and barely managed to get the border together.  On god, I’m pretty sure it’s a lost cause without you.”</p>
<p>Buck’s startled into a laugh.  For the first time all day, he smiles and doesn’t feel like he’s faking it.</p>
<p>“Okay.  Let’s go.”</p>
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